Over the past year while I wasn't writing I had another baby. (Yes, an entirely new human.) And my mom was diagnosed with cancer. (She is now cancer-free, athankyouverymuch.) Neither of those are reasons not to write; in fact, those events might have been catalysts for amazing writing.

But they weren't, not for me. Mostly I felt tired, and anxious, and like there is a whole lot of excess noise out there. And I didn't much feel like adding to it unless I had something to say that felt worth it. So I was very quiet, and I waited for something to happen that I wanted to tell you about.

And let's be honest. "You", after a year of not writing, is probably my mom, my sister, a few cousins and a handful of good friends. Which is totally okay with me. I love you people and I'm glad you're still here.

Today was A's last Star Student day. I have been operating under the assumption that sending my now-middle child to Kindergarten next fall will be easier than sending the oldest or the youngest. As I was handing over the Star Student bag and goodies to A's teacher "for the last time", I realized this is not likely to be the case. Luckily, before I could dwell too much on this "last", the teacher said she just had to tell me something about A.

Apparently during lunch yesterday, two little boys were discussing how they love chocolate so much they want to marry it. (Amen, little guys, amen.) Then they decided they should just marry each other instead. At which point another child pointed out that they could not, in fact, get married because they are both boys. So A interjected, "yes they can. Boys can marry boys, and girls can marry girls. You can marry whoever you love."

Whoa.

Then I got into my car and I cried and cried. Because apparently, my children do hear me when I talk. Maybe not about the little things – flushing the toilet, picking up their toys, interrupting me incessantly, and so on and so on ad nauseum. But the big things? The "it is my responsibility to teach you to believe these things to the core of your being before I send you out into the world to be a contributing member of society" things? Turns out they are listening. They get it.

A is only four, and when I cry at things that don't appear outwardly upsetting she gets confused and asks "Mommy, why does your voice sound like that? Why are you sad?" So I can't explain this to her. Instead, I will write it here and perhaps some day she will read it and know how important today is to me.

Thank you, my biggest little girl, for giving me a much-needed sign that I'm doing an okay job raising you. Thank you for being so brave. Don't ever let people tell you what you can and cannot do. (Unless it is me or your dad and you are doing something dangerous or illegal.) And thank you for being the thing I waited all year for – for giving me a reason to write again.

Him: "I'm going to go to a game tonight with [insert guy friend’s name here]."
Me: "Okay, what time is the game?"
Him: "Seven."
Me: (Mentally calculating drive and parking time.) "Okay. So you'll be here for dinner, pjs, and leave around 6:15-6:30."
Him: (Blank stare.) "No. We're having a beer before. Leaving here around 5:00. Okay?"
Me: (Painfully biting tongue.) "Sure thing, jerk." (The "jerk" is silent.)

Wife's Night Out:

(Early evening, said night out)

Me: "You remember that I'm going over to [insert girlfriend’s name here]'s house tonight right? I sent you a text when we scheduled it last week and I mentioned it again yesterday and also this morning?"
Him: (Blank stare.) "Oh. Seriously? Tonight? Right. Um, okay, sure, okay." (Deer in the headlights look.) "What time are you leaving? It's not, like, dinner, right?"
Me: "Yes, dinner. I was hoping around 6:30. I fed the kids. You just have to put them in pjs and put them in bed."
Him: "Yeah…it's been a really long day. But…go. You should go. We'll be fine." (Looks totally unconvinced.)
Me: "How about this? I will bathe them and put them in pjs. Then you literally just have to put them in bed like half an hour after I leave. Okay?"
Him: (Still looks totally unconvinced.) "Sure thing, jerk." (The "jerk" is, of course, silent.)

We really aren't so different, after all, are we? HA.

(*Please note, this post has been slightly exaggerated. Because it makes a better story that way, obviously.*)

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About Leah

Thirtysomething wife and mama to three kids who are known to the blogosphere as T, A & E. We live in Maine with the kids’ dad, R – who also happens to be the boss of our marketing agency. The fun never ends, I tell you. Currently trying to remember how to take care of a baby, due to the four year age gap between A and E. In my spare time (HA!) I take endless photographs of the tiny humans and sew ill-fitting clothes for A. Me, in three words: always perfectly imperfect.

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